


At Fate's Mercy

by louisnoel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, Reincarnation, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, for i have sinned, kill me, the next tag is gonna be a spoiler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4713959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louisnoel/pseuds/louisnoel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate AU where the marks on their wrists don't make sense to anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

> "The heart is its own Fate."
> 
> _\-- Philip James Bailey_

* * *

When three year old Sugawara Koushi asked his parents what his soulmate mark -- the words showing what his destined soulmate's first words to him would be -- read, they looked at each other and sighed. They told him that he was too young for this whole soulmate business and that he should worry about it when he was a grown-up. Most people met their soulmates when they were grown-ups, after all.

When six year old Sugawara Koushi learned how to write kana and discovered reading, he realised that the symbols on his wrist made no sense to him. They were not even Japanese, which should have come as a relief because if his parents didn't tell him what these hieroglyphs were supposed to read out, then he had to wait until he learned the right symbols which could take years. But it was no relief because they were _not_ Japanese and the young boy feared he might never be able to read them.

When ten year old Sugawara Koushi walked up to his English teacher after his very first English class, he found out the symbols weren't in English, or for that matter, Latin characters at all. Great. None of his teachers could help him. His friends presented their own soulmarks proudly to him, oblivious to his personal struggles. Everyone knew what their marks said. Everyone but him.

He grew to hate the whole soulmate affair as he grew older. It was unfair, he decided. He didn't feel like he was granted the chance to find the one person who would matter most to him, but rather as if someone had picked him to play a divine prank on. He feared he would never achieve happiness. At least not on the level his parents had, or his friends, or pretty much everyone around him.

* * *

When two year old Sawamura Daichi asked his parents where soulmate marks usually appear, they told him that his was special. The mark on his wrist looked like a smear, not a word, like it was supposed to from the boy's limited understanding. Confusion was his prime emotion, sadness his second-in-command. He wanted to know what his mark read but the black smear against the otherwise clear skin was intelligible.

When six year old Sawamura Daichi was on his first school day, he was confronted with the _look_ for the first time. The _look_ meant eyebrows drawn together in a scowl of confusion at his strange mark before it turned into a pitying glance downward, mouth stretched into a lop-sided grimace of a weak attempt at sympathy. At first he didn't mind the _look_ , but over time he grew to dislike it to the point of openly hating it. He invented a look of his own, but his furious stare was at best ignored and at worst met with even more unasked for pity.

When fourteen year old Sawamura Daichi entered high school, the _look_ from his classmates changed. The pity and the almost-sympathy were gone, replaced by malice. He had never imagined himself becoming a target for bullies, attracting all sorts of anger-driven know-it-alls. They called him strange, weird, wrong. According to them, he was a worse offence than a convicted criminal.

It ate at him. His self-confidence turned from genuine into an act. Soulmates were the most perverse way the universe could conspire against him, he thought, staring down that ugly black smear that was doing a great job ruining his life. And he did not only mean the bullies, the _look_ , and the pity he got everywhere he went. No, first and foremost he was concerned about his own future. How was he supposed to find his significant other with _this_?


	2. Chapter 2

When Sugawara Koushi -- known to the people he was close to simply as "Suga" -- complained about his stupid soulmark for what must have been the 767,486th time in his life, he was met with the greatest suggestion up to now.

"Why don't you try looking up those funny scribbles in a dictionary or something?" Asahi asked, eyes darting around the room but failing to meet Suga's.

His lips were twitching into a beam Asahi didn't see. "You'd think I'd have tried looking these," he gestured to his soulmark even though Asahi wouldn't see it, " _things_ up on the internet by now. Like," Suga consulted his smartphone, "looking up pictures of writing systems."

"What if it's in Hebrew or... or..." Asahi's voice became panicky and low, "ancient Egyptian?"

Suga shrugged. "At least I'd know _what_ this was. There's bound to be people who could translate this." He leaned into Asahi's field of vision, and Asahi blinked at him in obvious discomfort. Suga grinned. "The fact that this is neither Japanese nor English is a dead giveaway! As soon as someone starts talking to me and I understand nada, then that's the one. I could just say something really weird and check if it matches their mark!"

His excitement sparked a flame in Asahi, too, lips curving upwards into a serene smile. "Found something already?" he asked, leaning towards Suga to peek over his shoulder as he browsed his phone.

Displayed was a long list of the world's most common writing systems. Suga's enthusiasm dropped in time with his shoulders as he reached the bottom of the list. "This can't be everything," he mumbled under his breath.

Asahi frowned and kept quiet.

Suga opened the next result he had found through a simple Google search. Then the next. And the next. "I don't believe this," he said and checked the symbols on his wrist as though he hadn't remembered their exact shape by heart.

"Perhaps," Asahi said in a meek voice, "it's not a common writing system, but the opposite..."

"Oh!" Suga looked up from his phone and his frustrated frown turned into a proud smile. "You're a genius, Asahi!"

Suga didn't wait for Asahi returning his smile, seeing nothing more than his dumbfounded blink before turning his attention back to his phone. Changing the search term was a little feat, looking through the new results, however, wasn't.

His eyebrows knitted together as he scrolled down website after website, eagerly scanning the text and pictures for the smallest of hints. In his frustration he didn't notice Asahi creeping up behind him to watch his progress over his shoulder.

"I can't believe this! This can't be true!" Asahi did a double take at this loud and above-all angry exclamation of Suga's. "Why can't I find anything?" He looked up. "Not even you!"

"Uh, I'm here," Asahi said in a meek voice.

Suga turned around in time to see Asahi's face redden. He ran a hand through his ash-blond hair, closing his eyes as he did so. "Seriously, though, how can this be?" He sighed and opened his eyes again. "I mean, look at this." He stretched out his arm towards Asahi so the other man could inspect it. "These are characters of some written language, right?"

Asahi nodded, eyes fixed on Suga's wrist bearing the soulmark. "I've always assumed that your mark spells out words, just like any other."

"Right. So these are letters or symbols or something of the sort."

"I would say so, yes."

"So why is it that I can't find even the slightest hint as to what these," he indicated his mark with his other hand, "are?"

Asahi uncertainly looked back at Suga. "Have you only looked up human writing systems?"

"...What do you mean?" Suga's eyebrows drew back together.

"Made-up languages. Like... Elvish or Klingon... They have their own writing systems."

"Do they?" Suga wondered. It would be a little far-fetched, but it might just solve his problem.

"I think so, yes."

A quick internet search confirmed Asahi's assumption; however, Suga still wanted to talk to the expert in the matter in private.

***

"I don't want to dampen your mood here," Oikawa said, sounding like he was biting on his thumb's nail. Did he even bite his nails? Suga didn't remember. "But, you know, I've already seen your soulmark what feels like a thousand times, and I would've told you if I recognised even a single character on there."

Suga was biting his lip. "And you're sure it's not alien writing?" he asked.

"No alien writing made up by humans. If it were actual alien writing, though, how about we switch places--"

Suga rolled his eyes. He should have seen it coming. "What about, uh," he stopped to remember what Asahi had called it, "Elvish...?"

"Isn't he dead?"

Suga blinked. "Pardon me?"

"This Elvish guy. I thought he was dead but there's rumours he's still around, of course."

Suga sighed. This conversation would not be going anywhere helpful in the foreseeable future.

* * *

When Sawamura Daichi -- usually going for a first name basis, much to the dismay of older generations including but not limited to his parents -- turned 21, he decided he had to do something about his soulmark. He had long fallen into the habit of covering it up with a sweatband, embarrassed of anyone seeing the ugly smear he had come to hate with a special passion.

The way to a dermatologist was not an easy one for him to make, though. He prayed that his parents wouldn't find out somehow. After all, his mark was special but nonetheless normal, at least according to them.

There was a loose thread in his wristband, Daichi noticed while sitting in the waiting room and having nothing better to do than fumble around with his sole protection from this judgemental world. He was bored and yet his mind was running in circles. He craved distraction from his condition as much as certainty about it, trapping him in this back-and-forth of emotions.

At least today he would escape, Daichi told himself with less optimism than he would have liked.

The door to the waiting room opened and the receptionist called, "Sawamura." Daichi looked up with a start, eyes drifting through the room. No one else seemed alerted, and most people minded their own business and didn't notice his personal rendition of a deer caught in the headlights.

He followed the receptionist into a numbered door and was left to his own devices once again. At least he didn't have enough time to follow the loose thread and undo his whole wristband before the doctor entered the room, sat down opposite Daichi, looked through some files on his desk and finally greeted his patient. "Good afternoon. How may I help you?"

"Well," Daichi said, and wetted his lips. His throat constricted, and he fought the urge to leave it at that. "My, uh, my soulmark has always been, let's say, rather unusual." His fingers pulled at the loose threat from his wristband. "And I fear that despite my parents' claims that there's nothing wrong with it..." he trailed off.

"That there might be something medically exciting." Daichi raised one eyebrow at the doctor's word choice but the other man didn't notice because he was busy nodding to himself. Daichi didn't like his smile. "Please show me your mark."

Daichi slid his sweaty fingers under his wristband and pried it off. There it was, the smear, looking like someone had started to write something in ink, decided halfway through that it didn't matter and tried to erase it in the most half-assed way possible. He held the arm towards the dermatologist and away from him as if he didn't want to have it anymore, literally branded with his shame.

The doctor examined his wrist, coming so close at first that his hot breath made Daichi flinch with revulsion. Then he brushed his fingers over the black mark and finally let go. "Has your soulmark always been this way?" he asked as he leaned back into his chair and looked Daichi square in the eye.

"As long as I can remember, yes." Daichi swallowed.

"Then there is nothing wrong with your soulmark. It looks fine and it feels normal. Medically speaking, there is nothing unusual about it."

"Nothing?" Daichi's echo was hollow. He didn't want to believe this. He _needed_ a solution.

"Nothing at all!" When Daichi gave him the _look_ , the one he had perfected over the course of his life. It was intimidating at best and outright cruel at worst. Yapping for air, the doctor added, "I can't fix something that isn't broken."

"Well, okay," Daichi said in defiance. He wasn't about to accept it just like that; there had to be something that could be done. "But there must be a way to," he gestured towards his mark, "make this intelligible gibberish go away." 

"I'm afraid I will have to disappoint you again," the dermatologist began, and the last remainder of hope made way for despair settling in in its stead, "but there is no way to remove a soulmark. The only thing you can do is continue to cover it up."

Daichi heaved a ragged sigh and covered his face in his hands. He felt defeated and unable to do anything but cry. But not in front of someone else. He tried to stop the tears from flowing by screwing his eyes shut and digging his fingers into his face.

"Ah, you know," the doctor said, "there are many people who prefer covering their soulmarks. Some of them think these are too personal and don't want to share them. Others are ashamed of them because they plainly display profanity. And, of course, these are not suited for work places--"

"I didn't ask for this," Daichi said, the bitter sound muffled by his hands covering his face. He drew them away and stood up in one sharp, swift motion. "I didn't ask for any of it." And with that, he stormed out of the office.

***

He should not have got his hopes up. He should not have. The day had gone from bad to worse, shattering his hopes and himself.

Why couldn't his soulmark just be like everyone else's? Why did it have to be so outrageously special to earn him everything from mean snide remarks to full-on bullying?

He hated it. Daichi loathed the brand that wasn't any help in finding his soulmate. It mocked him and filled him with self-consciousness and shame. He detested the way it was ruining his mental health.

Burying his head in his arms, Daichi's sobs turned into howls and wet tears.


	3. Chapter 3

When Sugawara Koushi fought against the relentless storm of icy air and oversized snowflakes, he was on his way to work. He didn't mind working over the Christmas holidays -- he would spend one day with his family, and that was that. It wasn't like he had anyone to come home to on the remaining two days, or anyone he would leave for hours on end in the first place.

The bad thing about working over Christmas was that almost all his colleagues took the days off and Suga could not under any circumstances stay at home. And if the weather decided to troll him, then that was something he just had to deal with. He had the last few days already, anyway, so there was really no excuse.

Still, Suga regretted having set foot outside his cosy apartment when he slipped the second time that day and landed square on his behind. He was glad nobody batted their eyes at him, but a little help at regaining his footing would have been much appreciated nonetheless. He bit back the pain soaring through his body in waves and pushed himself up with some effort as to not land on his face in a second.

The following five minutes or so, Suga didn't slip a single time, head held high despite the stark snowfall in an attempt to be as attentive to his surroundings as he could as to not slip and fall again. But still, the next couple of moments went by in a confusing flash, disconnected somehow, Suga struggling to comprehend what was happening.

First, there was a sound he couldn't quite place. It sounded like a horn honking but not like a car, no. More like a ship. But what did a ship do in the middle of the winter in the middle of Japan?

Then there were twin lights threatening to blind him with their brightness. It cut through the snowstorm clean and clear.

There was something hard and cold pressing against his rib cage and legs when he came to a stop (apparently he had been sliding around on his stomach). There was that horrible honking or whatever it was again.

And then a yell full of anguish and pain pierced his ears. Suga's eyes widened in horror as comprehension of what was happening finally dawned on him. After a last, staggering gasp his vision went red, then black.

* * *

When Sawamura Daichi opened his fridge and stared into vast, illuminated emptiness, he knew he couldn't put off doing groceries any longer. The weather had been a real bitch to deal with for the past couple of days already, and Daichi had made a lot of excuses to himself why he wouldn't leave the house today. But starving wasn't an option, so, grabbing his coat, a pair of gloves, a scarf and his best winter boots, Daichi dressed for his upcoming detour through the world-gone-freezer.

After he had done the actual shopping, Daichi decided that the way home was worse than the one to the store. Now the wind blew the snow into his face, and Daichi had to face the ground while walking. Otherwise, his eyes would be subject to more than freezing air. Snow bit just as bad as sand, and because it melted right there in his eyes, it was extra painful in his humble opinion.

However, he couldn't very well walk home blinded by the falling flakes, so looking up from time to time to make sure he was still on the right track was a given. He felt his phone buzz against his right leg, the cell buried as deep in the pocket as his hand would shove it. There was no way in hell he would be able to answer whichever idiot was calling him right now.

But his hand still shot to his phone as his eyes widened in horror. Someone wrapped in a scarf adorned with Christmas motifs (why he was able to see them from this distance, and why those were the most distinguished features for him, Daichi wouldn't be able to tell) slipped on some of the nasty ice gracing the streets and lost their balance. But the person didn't catch themselves, instead landing flat on their face and sliding under a pair of already closed train barriers. A train whistle blew. The image was horrible. Daichi had to act.

Fuelled by a sudden rush of adrenaline, Daichi let go of the plastic bag containing his groceries, hand snaking out of his pants without the phone. If he wasn't able to do anything now, calling anyone wouldn't be of any help to the unfortunate person anyway.

He didn't slip as he ran and dashed. The whole world went blurry, wind and snow searing in his eyes. Why did whoever that was have to stop sliding right on the tracks? Daichi bit his lip against the pain and oncoming shock. The whistle sounded again. Somewhere in his mind he knew he wouldn't be able to make a difference, no matter how hard he was trying right now. There was no way he would be able to reach the scene in time, and even if he could, what would he do? How would he be able to get both of them out of this alive?

He was less than ten feet from the barriers when he had probably the best view of the whole world's population witnessing a gruesome accident. Daichi drew in as much breath as his lungs allowed, screaming and yelling and crying and wailing all at the same time. It was a terrible sound full of anguish, misery and pain.

It was followed by the sharp but raspy intake of breath from the person lying there, then screeching brakes and the unmistakable, horrible crushing of bone and flesh under tonnes of metal. Daichi vomited.

And then realisation hit him. His soulmark had been right all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Please don't hate me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything's gonna be fine. Thank you for bearing with me <3

He should have been glad his soulmark read "What the" and didn't F-bomb anyone. But some small, sadistic part of him was disappointed. It would have been such a great way to troll people...!

The excellent part about it, though, was, that he was probably responsible for this reaction, and pride swelled in his chest at the thought. Ah, how he loved inspiring these emotions in other people...

It was a given he'd talk to his friends about the most ridiculous things he came up with. He didn't care that he was wearing down most of his friends' patience, and weren't their horrified looks when he opened his mouth not already satisfaction enough?

A warm breeze ruffled up his hair when he began talking to one of his victims (read: friends), walking across campus for a much-needed break from their classes. "There is a way we can stop this thing. Virgin sacrifices. Yes, the Mexican Fish and Game Commission assures--"

"What the--" He turned around, eyes wide.

* * *

Why anyone would quote a beyond-trashy B-movie script to him first time they met, he didn't know. He didn't want to know, either, all things considered. Nonetheless, he had made the effort to google the lame excuse for good taste forever printed onto his wrist, and had had a good laugh at it. He couldn't change the mark, but he could make the best of what he was "blessed" with, right?

Even though he'd anticipated it happening sometime, it had never been _now_ but instead sometime far away. That was what he had been telling himself for his whole life. So when he made his way across campus on a warm spring noon and heard the familiar script, he couldn't help but turn around, heart pounding up to his throat. He was aware of his face reddening and his breath catching in his throat. Two people were standing there. Why two people...? "What the--"

**Author's Note:**

> hijackedbylou.tumblr.com


End file.
